


And Gifts Are Freely Given

by orphan_account



Category: Batman Begins (2005), Superman Returns (2006)
Genre: M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-28
Updated: 2006-12-28
Packaged: 2018-04-19 08:00:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4738757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce needs some loosening up; Clark, ever the Boy Scout, helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Gifts Are Freely Given

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the worlds_finest Secret Santa Exchange. This was for Claim #149: Bruce and Clark at a Christmas party with their friends.

The crowd filling the Wayne manor moved like a living entity, the noise surging and receding like a radio being tuned by a drunken listener. The comparison wasn’t too far off—champagne and spiked eggnog flowed as freely as the simpering and insincere flattery. Festive lights adorned the walls, twinkling sparks catching the liquid in the elegant flutes and highlighting bejeweled gestures as the women compared their portable wealth. The men lingered at the edges, a few of them positioned conveniently underneath mistletoe and others retreating so that they could puff on their cigars in peace, smoke and their rumbling laughter filling up the space around them. The young and foolish heckled the band into speeding up the Christmas classics that had been sedately creating ambiance in favor of fervent and barefoot dancing.

Bruce hung back from the scene with the stoicism of one of the marble columns that supported his home, like a sentinel that had stood guard so long he’d become laced into the stonework. He held a single glass of champagne between two fingers, untouched for the past two hours though he’d raised it to his lips many times.

Clark wondered when Bruce would be satisfied that nothing sinister was afoot and would come over and join them. They’d had a few wordless conversations across the room via pointed eyebrow raising and telling smirks, but so far, he’d only succeeded in realizing exactly how inept he was at interpreting Bruce’s body language while Bruce, on the other hand, seemed to be able to read his every nuance, even with fifty feet and a hundred other bodies between them. Figured. Clark might have the physiological advantages, but Bruce more then made up for it in almost every other arena.

Sipping his orange juice, Clark smiled into his cup.

Time to even the odds.

He set down the cup and mumbled something vague to Jimmy and Lois before slipping off and speeding through the mansion to get the room ready.

*

“Precisely what do you think you’re doing?” Bruce said, voice level. But his wrists surged up against his restraints, eyes carrying a message that even Clark could decipher: _I will kill you_.

Clark swallowed. Bruce wasn’t one to make idle threats, but he’d committed himself now, so he had to see it through. He forced a smile and reclined on the bed. “I think it’s time you enjoyed your own party, Bruce.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, tugging once more at the cloth restraints on his wrists and ankles. “Wouldn’t that require me being present at said party?”

Clark straddled him in one fluid motion and started to undo his dress shirt. He licked his lips when Bruce's body—thank God—responded just as he’d been hoping.

“Once you’ve relaxed.”

“And how are you proposing I relax?”

Clark didn’t answer until he’d stripped Bruce completely; he ran his hands feather-light over the warm contours, using his fingertips to feel for tense spots. He slid his arms under Bruce’s back, pressing deep kisses into his neck, following the pulsing vein until his lips were grazing Bruce’s ear.

“Tell me where you’re tight,” he whispered, kneading his hands into the dense knots.

“I’m not—”

Clark stopped the protestation with his mouth before it could be realized. He worked his fingers harder into Bruce’s back, simultaneously bearing his hips down and grinding their erections together.

“Tell me where you’re tight.” This time it was a command.

Bruce closed his eyes. “Right there,” he breathed, and Clark felt the minutest loosening under his hands. Distracting Bruce with well-placed kisses, nips, and caresses, he let his hands roam the entirety of Bruce’s body, discovering the joins and niches. The months of practice were now paying off—even though it took all his concentration to keep the application of pressure steady, the sounds Bruce was making indicated it was well worth it. The muscles that had been taut to the point of snapping all evening soothed under his touch, hesitant at first but smooth and soft now, and he reveled in the feel, pressing his palms full onto Bruce’s skin, heat against heat.

Clark was patient, using his thumbs and knuckles to ease the aftermath of battle that always haunted them; the shadows dimmed when they were close like this, but never fully disappeared. He worked at them, refusing to gentle his ministrations even when Bruce’s cries became pleasure bordering on agony.

“Jesus… _Clark_ …”

Bruce’s body whipcorded up when Clark hit a spot low on his back, just above his tailbone. His resolve to hold off, so strong mere seconds ago, melted at the utter surrender beneath him and he took Bruce’s mouth, stripping off his clothes and eliminating the last barrier between them.

“How does it feel, Bruce?” He asked, moving his hands now just for pleasure, teasing and stroking and inviting the heat nearer and nearer to the surface.

Bruce bit into his neck, growling. “Not enough.”

Clark strangled out a laugh and undid the bonds with trembling fingers and let Bruce show him exactly what enough was.

*

Lois worried at a hangnail while she watched the valet walk off to get her car.

“Did you have fun, Ms. Lane?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, I did. How about you?”

Jimmy nodded enthusiastically. “Mr. Wayne’s parties are always so exciting.”

She smiled. “That they are.” Looking back at the house, her forehead knitted thoughtfully. “Did you notice anything odd about Mr. Wayne, Jimmy?”

Jimmy scratched his head. There was a reason he took the photographs.

“Odd? What do you mean?”

“I… I don’t know. He was _laughing_ so much.”

Jimmy just looked at her.

She sighed. “Think about it, Jimmy. Bruce Wayne may be a playboy, but he’s no socialite, no matter how much money he has. He doesn’t do the laugh-and-smile-on-command routine. So why was tonight different?”

“Maybe he… you know…” Jimmy made the drinking motions with his hand. “Someone spiked that eggnog, after all.”

“Maybe.” She went back to worrying at her nail. “But he was also walking funny—wobbly.”

“Sounds like an open and shut case to me,” he said, shrugging.

“Maybe,” she said again, but the valet was back with her car, so she filed this mystery away for a rainy day.

She’d have to make sure to ask Clark about it.

*

Clark was in that half-state between dreaming and waking where he sometimes had conversations with stars and swallowed sunlight, so as he was lying flush against Bruce he was also pillowed on clouds and the light filtered through him like he was just a coalescence of happy vapors. He hummed when he heard the whispered _thank you_ , floating away happily.


End file.
